That Cold Place
by KLMeri
Summary: Christopher Pike returns to haunt his protégé, Jim. Gen - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: That Cold Place (1/2)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Pike  
**Summary**: Christopher Pike returns to haunt his protégé, Jim.  
**A/N**: October is the time of year when we celebrate all things spooky. Of course, y'all know I love a good ghost story. Though I didn't finish this in time to post on Halloween, here is the first half of it.

* * *

In the hushed pre-dawn darkness, a man journeys through a closed marketplace. His pace is unhurried, plodding almost, like his limbs are not quite as awake as the rest of him. Halfway down a zigzag line of empty stalls, his momentum finally peters out. As he raises his head and stares at nothing, between two stalls the shadows begin to rearrange.

A cold line glides across his wrist and lingers there like an absent finger seeking contact. Then something shifts in that gap, drawing his attention—a flap of ragged cloth caught by a gust of wind. From behind the old curtain, a face leans out.

Suddenly the man is aware of his heart drumming against his ribs.

"Come and sit, son," the man within the shadows says. "I've been waiting for you."

The staring visitor—of the given name James Tiberius Kirk, formally known as Captain and of the preferred name Jim—hesitates only a moment before sliding through the gap.

* * *

The interior of the old tent is the same as the first time Jim saw it: dark cloth walls, so thick only the edges of the tent glow faintly where it meets the dirt floor; not furnished or decorated except for two chairs near the entrance; of no welcoming warmth. He swallows a mouthful of bitter air and seats himself beside the man patiently watching him.

"You came back," the man says.

Jim finds his voice. "Had to."

"Why?"

He meets the other's gaze. "To see if this is real."

The man gazes down at his hands resting on his knees as if in serious contemplation, lifts one and flexes it open, palm up. "Seems real enough to me."

"You died," Jim states flatly. "It's not like I expected to meet you again. Not here, on some remote planet during first contact."

The dead man studies Kirk curiously. "Did you think our meeting again would have to wait until the afterlife?"

Jim presses his mouth flat.

Christopher Pike huffs out a soft sound. "Tell me, who truly understands how our existence works? I certainly never claimed to."

"I'm dreaming."

"Try pinching yourself." Pike looks like he might laugh. "Or would you prefer a whack upside the head?"

Jim instinctively touches the side of his head, catches himself, and smooths his hair down instead. "Pass," he says, feeling a bit childish, and drops his hand back to his lap. "I have questions."

"More?" grumbles Jim's old mentor lightly. Then, "All right. I have nowhere else to be."

Jim bites the inside of his cheek at that dry tone. Pike looks expectant, so he tucks both hands between his knees and leans forward, wondering if he is prepared enough for this conversation—or any conversation, truth be told, with the dead.

Especially a person he admired, respected, and cared deeply about.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the sun turning the dark sky to light pink, a picturesque view through the tent's opening. For some reason, when Jim is inside this place, he doesn't worry about matters beyond it. He hasn't decided whether or not that is a boon.

"You said you were waiting for me. Where do you go when you're not here?"

Pike raises an eyebrow. "As I said, I have nowhere else to be."

"You mean you only show up for me," surmises Jim. He makes a noise of unhappiness. "Then… not dreaming but crazy."

"Son, you've never been normal but I wouldn't call you crazy."

Jim counters without thinking, "That's not what you said the time I—" He cuts himself short at seeing Pike smile at him. "Do you remember that?"

"You always had a knack for finding trouble," Pike reminisces before his smile fades away. "I understand you found serious trouble after I left."

Oh no, Jim does _not_ want to talk about that particular event. He tries for the flippant arrogance he's so good at, straightening up in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I handled it."

Pike says nothing.

It doesn't take long for Jim to squirm under the weight of the man's stare. "It's nothing."

"I'm not here for 'nothing'."

Kirk feels something knot in his throat and tries to breathe through it. Any feeling of awkwardness vanishes at the first tinges of emotional pain.

Pike sighs through his nose then and shakes his head slightly. "Do you know how lucky you are to have survived?"

Jim can think of all the reasons why he did survive and none of them had to do with his own actions. He was accepting of his death when he walked into that warp core—in a way Christopher Pike could not have been when death came to claim _him_.

Jim fights back old anger and old painful memories. "I don't want to talk about this, and I didn't come here to be scolded."

"Still the same," comes the rueful murmur. "Well, change the subject if you're uncomfortable. What's your next question?"

Jim watches the stirrings of the marketplace, sellers arriving and setting up their wares, as the sky brightens from pink to gold. After a time, he wonders, "Is this going to last?"

His companion appears to understand the concern, inclining his head ever-so-slightly. "You will find me tomorrow if you wish to."

That, it seems, is enough of an answer to satisfy Kirk.

* * *

Traveling through the darkness feels like exploring the unknown, which Jim is used to. Though his body is sleep-fogged and dragging, his mind notes all the familiar things about this special journey, having taken the same path three days in a row now. Maybe he is more self-aware each time he goes, from the sudden shock of seeing Pike again to deep caution to the not-quite complacency that accompanies the anticipation of engaging in something he wants badly.

As promised, Christopher Pike is standing just within that strange place, as if having kept a watchful eye out for his protégé's return. Together, they sit down facing one another.

This time Pike looks approving. "You're not upset."

Jim rubs his thumb against the side of his opposite hand. "More curious than upset, I guess. Is this a spell?"

"As in magic?" Pike barks out a laugh. "You're creative, I will give you that."

"I've been through some unusual—" _and disturbing_, he doesn't add, "—adventures, sir."

"But you enjoy the challenge," Pike remarks with a knowing look.

Jim isn't certain of how much truth to share. In the past, he wouldn't have hesitated to speak openly with Chris, who always seemed to have the right response to make him consider the many facets to his concerns. But this… this is time he shouldn't have with a man he wasn't supposed to know again in life, and so it seems almost wasteful to express the doubts that have weighed upon him recently. But if this is indeed the Christopher Pike Jim knows well, then those doubts will eventually surface.

His heart aches thinking of it.

Time passes without his being aware of it. Not until the sun is nearly at its apex in the sky does Jim blink and recall his surroundings. He raises a hand as a shield for his eyes against a strong white glare—sunlight which doesn't seem to penetrate the shadows of the tent.

"Are you ready to go?" Pike asks, as though the pause in their conversation may be a dismissal of some kind.

"I—" Jim starts, then stops with a sharp inhale, leaning toward the view of people bustling about in the world out of reach as he spies something of interest. "Wait." Focusing harder, he identifies what he has seen and snaps back as if slapped. Then he half-rises from his chair, twisting around in the sudden silence of the tent to demand of Pike more fiercely than in days past, "Is this real?"

"That question has already been asked and answered."

Jim grips the back of his chair. "Do you see them? Sulu. Spock and McCoy. Others. They're out there."

"You can see them," Pike says, like Jim acknowledging their existence is all that matters. "They're searching for you."

"I didn't know I was missing," Jim protests a bit sharply. Then he takes a minute to contemplate what he remembers of this planet and his reason for being there. "Something happened." His hand finds a spot, healed but still tender, on his torso. "I was injured?"

"It is not common on this planet," Pike remarks, "to sacrifice oneself for the greater good."

Kirk frowns. "I wouldn't say 'sacrifice'. It was my duty."

"The meaning of a word depends upon the perspective of the speaker." Pike points toward the figures in the marketplace, uniformed officers and natives alike. "What is a duty to you may be a gift to them."

Feeling dismayed, Jim looks away. "Or a burden." When he turns back to Pike, his decision is made. "While healing, I would have been under the care and surveillance of my team. How did you manage to bring me here?" His gaze narrows. "And how long have I been gone?"

The older man relaxes back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture is one which usually proceeds a lecture of which said recipient wouldn't care to hear and is so Pike-like that abruptly Jim's eyes start to burn.

"Recall that _you_ came to find _me_."

"The fact that I'm even talking to you makes me question why."

"Kirk, in your heart, didn't you wish we could meet again?"

Jim's throat closes up at the same time anger flares inside him. "Unless I'm in the _afterlife_, whether I wanted this or not, it can't possibly be. This is manipulating what I want!" He ends that statement with a solid thump of his fist against his chair arm.

Pike snorts and challenges Jim in exactly the way Jim would expect him to: "Then why are you still here?"

Many reasons, all of which he cannot give voice to: because he does wish this apparition—delusion, whatever it is—to be the person he lost; because there is so much to tell the man who left him behind, if only a simple goodbye; because the pain of missing a loved one is ever-present; and because Jim is so used to beating the odds to make the impossible possible and at this very moment is desperate enough to believe in miracles.

He hangs his head with this knowledge of his vulnerability and his vanity. The hand falling upon his shoulder startles him. It feels real enough to be a miracle.

Pike's advice is soft and grave but not unkind: "If this upsets you, you shouldn't stay."

The understanding in Pike's eyes is almost too much to bear. Kirk runs a hand across his face, brushing at unshed tears, allowing only his voice to hint at the emotion weighing him down. "I don't think I can leave this place," he admits.

After a moment of silence, Pike says, "You are hidden here until you desire it otherwise… but would that be fair to those who hope to find you?"

Guiltily Jim's gaze tracks the progress of the officers meticulously working their way from one end of the thoroughfare to the other, scanning every direction, inspecting every stall, stopping shoppers in the street with questions. Sulu looks grim. McCoy is clearly exhausted and worried. Spock's intense focus on his tricorder is a telltale sign of him suppressing some unpleasant determination.

"What if I don't want to go back?" Jim asks. Knowing this would happen, would be unavoidable in Pike's presence, nonetheless, the words burst out of him in a rush of relief and urgency. "What if I gave up the ship, the job, all of it?"

Pike says nothing.

Jim doesn't need him to. He barrels on, rubbing at his forehead to dispel a lurking headache. "What if being a captain isn't for me? Okay, so I haven't been on the bridge a tenth of the time of some of my peers have, but isn't that long enough to know what I want for myself?"

"Does your family know?"

Jim jerks his gaze up to Pike's. "Family," he repeats, tone sharp. "Like who? My mother?"

Pike raises an eyebrow, amending, "You should know well that blood relations are not the only kind of family."

A muscle twitches along Kirk's jawline. "No, I haven't told any of my crew. I haven't told anyone."

"Because you are afraid of advice that might change your mind," Pike contends before chuckling softly. "Don't fool yourself. You would never alter your decision if you were certain of it. You want to be persuaded."

Jim stiffens.

Pike goes on, "Just as you wanted someone to challenge you to join Starfleet."

"That wasn't your challenge," Jim counters, despite having grown very still.

"It was not," Pike agrees. "I challenged you to be a better captain than your father. Is that why you want to quit? Because I'm no longer here to watch—and encourage—your achievements?"

With so little effort, those words gut Jim.

Pike pushes forward, bringing himself to the edge of Kirk's personal space. "You didn't use to give up so easily."

Jim thinks, _Going forward wasn't this difficult before._

"You believe what happened to me made you change, but you're wrong. The death of one person does not change who you are. You change yourself. And, son, I can't believe you would want to be less than the great man I always knew you could be."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Jim half-demands, half-cries.

Pike sits back, then, to observe his protégé's expression. When Jim repeats the question, truly disarmed and upset, he explains, "The dead only speak when the living are willing to hear them."

"You shouldn't have died!" Jim jumps to his feet. "It could've been prevented! I could've—"

"No," Pike says implacably. "You don't make that call."

"I hate this." Both of Kirk's hands fist at his sides. "I didn't know my father, but I knew _you_, Chris, and I _hate_ missing you."

"Well, what else can you do?" responds Pike, sounding oddly more like Jim than sounding like the person Jim knew. "You cared about me."

Jim thumps back into his chair as the fight abandons him. He asks after a long minute, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I can be here," Pike confirms before adding gently, "one more day."

A warning and a line drawn—Jim understands him well. This offering is a chance to make peace with himself, not with the man whom he feels he failed.

Wordlessly, he watches Pike. The man rises to his feet, moves to the edge of the shadows, and then through the gap into the daylight, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Left behind, Jim waits in that still, cold air, thinking and drifting, until the market closes after dusk. Then he too rises and returns to his place.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Part Two

"I can't believe this," the Enterprise's chief medical officer repeats not for the first time that hour. "I can't believe it." When the man brushes his eyes with his arm, voice and demeanor disheartened, the officer ahead of him turns from his study of a dilapidated structure, lowering the instrument in his hands as if his companion's despondency has reached the point such that it can no longer be ignored.

"We lost him _again_," goes on the doctor, despairing. "I just can't—it shouldn't be possible!"

"Obviously it is."

This flat response rallies Leonard McCoy a bit. "We were right there, Spock—practically pinning him to that bed!—and Jim still up and vanished like a ghost!"

"You are forgetting, Doctor, that we were not conscious when he vanished."

"And whose fault is that?" McCoy bites out before pulling back slightly at the minuscule pinch to Spock's expression. "I'm sorry," he says following an awkward pause. "I shouldn't have said that."

The commander twists away from the apology to inspect the sagging doorway of the building once again. "Your assessment is not incorrect. The situation is only acerbated by my inability to counteract the influence which clearly aids in the Captain's disappearance."

The doctor slips up to the Vulcan's side. "We're both lacking this time, Spock. But I have a funny feeling it wouldn't matter if you could keep awake. You saw that footage. The way Jim acted… It was like he knew exactly what he was doing."

Spock looks to McCoy. "You think he chooses to leave us behind."

McCoy nods slightly. "Some part of him must. I definitely don't buy that sleepwalking bullhocky from Ambassador Lowman and the Elder's Tribunal. I gave Jim enough sedatives to knock out someone of _your_ metabolism, Spock. The man shouldn't be able to prop open an eyelid with a toothpick, let alone elude a half-dozen security officers!"

"It is not difficult to elude anyone when they are asleep," comes the dry counter.

McCoy purses his mouth in dismay. "Jim's not going to like it when he comes to trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving. But at this point, I'm not certain shackling him to a bed, a wall, or even a damn boulder would work."

"The odds do appear against us," agrees Spock. Along with McCoy, he takes a moment to watch the trek of an old man leading the beast attached to a cart full of brightly patterned fabric, a seller on his way to the city's marketplace.

"Spock…" McCoy's hesitation recaptures the Vulcan's attention. "What if Jim's found something more important than… well, than what he already has?" The doctor's troubled gaze lingers on Spock's. "Have we missed the obvious here?"

"I would not presume to know all of Captain Kirk's wants and desires. However, in my experience, he has never 'walked away' simply because he could."

"People change, Spock. Become worn down. And God knows Jim holds himself to a high standard—always burning both ends of the candle. Sometimes I think…" McCoy waves a hand dismissively. "Never mind that. My point is, I wish we knew what we're up against. Maybe then we could figure out how to fight back."

"Finding the Captain would be a step in the right direction."

A hint of a smile touches McCoy's mouth. "Did you just use an idiom?"

Spock cocks an eyebrow. "I thought I was stating the obvious, Doctor."

"I suppose you _literally_ want to get moving?"

"Of course." Spock points his tricorder toward the northern path. "Mr. Chekov's analysis finished uploading. We should proceed to the location where the Captain's energy signal terminated this morning."

"Let me guess, it's the market again," growls McCoy as he falls into step with the Vulcan.

"Affirmative."

"Knew there was something off about that place, and it isn't the questionable food smells. Gave me the heebie-jeebies."

"A disease, Doctor? Is it treatable?"

McCoy bumps his shoulder hard into Spock's, afterward blaming the uneven terrain as the culprit but looking much too pleased with himself to be fully convincing. McCoy's companion offers, in turn, to carry him in order to prevent further slips and thus sets the doctor to sputtering.

With their spirits restored, the Enterprise's senior officers resume their search for their missing captain.

* * *

"What is this place?" Jim stops drumming his fingers against his crossed arms, taking in the interior of the tent, unchanged, still eerie yet serene.

Pike runs a hand across his head, shrugging. "What it needs to be? Sacred ground. A discreet gathering site. Home. Or the rift where life and death meet." He glances at Kirk. "But what it's not, son, is a vacation spot."

"Trying to kick me out already?" Jim murmurs.

"I just want you to be prepared."

Jim snorts softly. "I won't make a scene."

Pike states dryly, "I won't let you," and then chuckles.

A smile flickers at the corners of Kirk's mouth. He feels like he could wrap himself up in comfortable silence and be content here, but Pike seems to have a different game plan, starting with a few simple questions, to which Jim mostly gives monosyllabic answers until the act annoys Jim.

"Stop that," he commands.

Pike arches an eyebrow in the vein of an incredulous _did you just give me an order?_ and then, before Jim can react, whips an arm across the distance between them to shake the edge of Kirk's chair. Jim is quick to anchor himself, meaning he doesn't end up on the dirt floor, though it is a near thing.

Mildly astonished, he comments, "You're stronger than I remember."

"Next time I'll rattle your head. There's still a chain of command here, boy. Mind it."

Jim perks up. "A chain of command only applies to the living."

"Says who?" Pike fires back.

Jim has forgotten how easy it is to start a pissing contest with Pike.

Even tempered by age, Christopher Pike had never lacked in arrogance. Jim always suspected this shared character trait had been the thing that added spice to their shouting matches. Not all of those arguments had stemmed from Kirk doing something reckless; more often than not, Pike simply was irritated by his protégé's audacity to match him in arrogance. Some of Pike's peers had fondly called Jim 'Younger Chris' (just to further irritate the admiral), which at times also made Jim ponder if his mentor in his youth had been an upstart against the system.

"What's on your mind?" Pike asks, watching Jim intently.

"Was wondering if you were always such a stickler," says Jim before his brain catches up to his mouth.

But Pike doesn't seem offended by the remark. "It's easier to appreciate the rules after you've broken enough of them to know which ones are important."

Jim looks at him with interest.

"Not that I'm advocating that approach," Pike tacks on dryly. "Your record doesn't need more infractions."

A sparkle appears in Jim's eyes. "Considering the sheer volume of regulations which make up the Officer's Handbook, I would need a decade to test them all."

"Don't even think about it."

"Don't have to," Jim quips. "I've got Spock to—" He stops there with a blink then finishes his thought slowly. "—Spock to keep tabs on it."

He doesn't feel good suddenly and thinking that he doesn't feel good also reminds him of another name.

His fingers brush his side. Healed injury, he recalls. He meets Pike's steady gaze—and drops his head forward with a sigh.

"Why do I keep forgetting?" he asks. "It's been days of—of this. God, they must be going crazy wondering where I am." He glances through the gap, seeing what looks like a normal business day at the market.

"Jim," Pike says, and Jim starts, vaguely unnerved to hear the word coming from Pike's mouth. No, _this_ Pike hasn't called him by his first name until now, he realizes. It keeps his attention like nothing else.

"Jim," Pike says again calmly, "the daylight's waning, and there is something I need to know before it's gone."

Jim nods for him to continue.

"I know why I'm here. You drew me to this place. I can't say I'm mad about that because I didn't like leaving you the way I did. Always knew it was a possibility," Pike adds under his breath, as if to himself, before sighing through his nose. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

Jim just looks at him, uncomprehending.

Pike asks more gently, "Do you have someone to go to?"

Jim blinks back tears. "No one could replace you, Chris."

"I don't care about that. I care about you being adrift. You said you don't know if you want to stay the course you're on. Believe me, I know where that feeling stems from. Captain over a ship of a few hundred, and the loneliness still comes at you. But it's bearable—if you have someone to bridge the gap."

The gap, Jim thinks, glancing sidelong at the front of the tent. Always that damn gap between where he is and where he thinks he could be happiest. "I wish I had an answer to give you."

"Then make it a priority," Pike states in a sharper tone. "You take care of yourself. You stand up for yourself. That's fine, for now. But always plan for the long-term and for the unexpected."

"The motto of a true captain," Jim says, half-joking, but he nods once. "I'll figure something out."

His mentor leans back in his chair, suddenly at ease again. "Somebody will."

Tempting to ask what he means by that, but Jim has a returning headache and no real desire to press the issue. In his heart, he knows he needs people in his corner—not just smart contacts, loyal crewmen, and higher-ups who know he can get the job done. But also in his heart, he wishes Chris could still be that someone, the kind of person he can trust in his rawest moments and with his deepest fears. And _that_ would require Jim being willing to open up… again.

Pike is now watching him with a mysterious expression, but Jim doesn't have the impression the man is displeased. He asks of Jim, "Have we missed anything?"

Jim shakes his head, all of a sudden voiceless. _This is the end,_ he thinks.

"Kirk?"

Jim spreads his fingers, palms facing out, and finally forces the words past the lump in his throat. "I've got nothing. If you need to go…" He lets the sentence hang there.

Comfortably slouched, Pike props his elbow on the chair and frames his chin between forefinger and thumb. "So. We're done here?"

Jim swallows hard. "Yeah."

His companion presses, "You sure?"

Jim has to look away.

Pike sighs through his nose, then, his expression cool but knowing. "Even here time doesn't go backward. Haven't I cautioned you to use it wisely?"

"But what if it could?" Jim asks, after a moment craning his head around to Pike again. When Pike draws his eyebrows together, Jim clarifies, "Not literally a reversal of time, I mean, but I've been thinking—well, postulating. This experience has been... insane... but good."

"I won't disagree with that."

Kirk goes on, despite knowing he might land himself into trouble, "So, if it can be given to others, why not? Where's the harm?"

Pike comes out of his slouch, then. "James, where is this going?"

Jim raises a hand to stall more questions. "But first I need to know the specifics of what is actually possible. What else can the people of this planet do besides raising the dead?"

For a second, Pike's eyes pop.

Jim has the weird urge to laugh but doesn't. "This place might be old hat to you guys, but my people could benefit from the skillset—or from something like it. So we have the means to negotiate now. Will you communicate that to them?"

Pike simply shakes his head. "You never disappoint."

Jim smiles faintly. "Glad to hear it, sir."

"Any other messages I need to pass along?"

Jim pretends to consider that, then says, "No."

"All right, I can play ambassador," agrees Pike, "though I warn you, that was never my forte. Also, don't say things like 'raising the dead'. That isn't how this works anyway."

"Then explain how it works."

Pike slaps a hand to Kirk's shoulder and just laughs.

Seeing his mentor so tickled again, something in Jim relaxes—and the sadness he had grown used to at long last begins to recede.

* * *

"I don't see it," McCoy insists, aggrieved and clearly disconcerted. "Nothing's there!"

"Hm," intones Spock.

Sulu looks between the two officers before deciding, "We'll search the area again." He signals to another team member to join him, then flips open his communicator to relay instructions to the rest of the landing party. Turning back to Spock and McCoy, he explains, "The interference has dissipated. Uhura is already handing out the roster for rotating shifts. Gives us a chance to rest and adds more manpower."

McCoy takes one look at Spock, whose nose remains pointed at the device in his hands, and gives a slight shake of the head to Sulu. "We're stuck down here for better or worse until Jim is back among us. But you're looking rough, old son. Maybe you ought to head back up to the ship."

Ignoring that, Sulu goes over to the others gathered nearby. Soon after, the party spreads out in pairs in every direction, weaving in and out of the foot traffic, lingering around increasingly annoyed shoppers, and poking through each stall.

The natives seem to have little concern over the report of a missing person, especially offworlders that may or may not be wandering about in their right mind. In fact, a woman dressed in the traditional kaftan and head wrap of her people had rumbled irritably to McCoy as she spun a fat skein of wool to sell, "The journey man returns when his heart returns. Simple. As. That."

It's not the most enlightening tidbit they have gleaned over several days. Frankly, McCoy thinks these people wouldn't harp on about having patience if they were in his shoes, regardless of their so-called customs. It's difficult to remain unaffected when it's _your_ family who is lost.

He leans into Spock's field of vision, catching the Vulcan's attention. "Stay or go?" he asks. Personally, McCoy would choose to 'go' simply to keep from feeling more useless than he already does—and also because Spock has been standing in front of that sagging old tent for far too long.

Spock offers him a slow blink.

He's going to be gray-haired by the time this misadventure is over. "Spock? Hello? Tell me your mind hasn't gone begging!"

Spock blinks again. "Doctor?"

McCoy closes his eyes momentarily, breathing out a small sigh of relief. When he opens them again, he partly chastises, partly begs, "Stay with me. We can't afford to lose you too."

"Illogical," states Spock. "I am not lost." His dark gaze considers McCoy. "Nor, I believe, is the Captain."

McCoy crosses his arms over his chest, but his counter remark has more hope than heat. "Then where is he?"

Spock glances toward the tent. "Uncertain. But I suggest looking for a pattern of anomalies in this vicinity."

Looking to the tricorder then back to Spock, he feels a little surprised—and very hopeful now. "A theory, Mr. Spock?"

Spock hesitates a moment before admitting, "A hunch, as you call it, Dr. McCoy."

The doctor nods. "Good enough for me." He holds out an imperative hand. "Give that here. I'll mind the readings. You mind that big computer you call a brain."

The Vulcan hands over the tricorder. "We may gather more pertinent data if I employ every sense at my disposal."

McCoy flaps a hand. "Go for it."

Spock cocks an inquisitive eyebrow his way, as though this is an unanticipated response.

"Better to fight the mystery you don't know with the one you do," McCoy reasons sagely.

Spock appears to accept this logic, locking his hands behind his back and lifting his head the tiniest fraction. As the Vulcan's calm gaze sweeps their surroundings, coolly analyzing this and that, McCoy has the impression of a good old-fashioned bloodhound searching for a strong scent. Oddly warmed, the doctor stifles a smile. Then he sets about twisting the dial of the tricorder, cursing at the fool device to perform as excellently in his hands as it usually does for the commander.

When Spock suddenly sets off, McCoy hustles to catch up to that long-legged stride. "And off to the hunt we go!" he clucks under his breath, for some reason unsurprised as they make for another cluster of empty tents.

* * *

Pike and Kirk rise to their feet as a unit when the glowing sheen across the gap flickers weakly. Jim feels a spate of nerves rising alongside a swell of heart-pain. Before he can turn away, skittish, to avoid the moment, Pike touches his shoulder lightly, a silent offer of comfort without any demands. In the next instant Jim is holding onto the man, oddly less upset, not angry, just simply grateful that an apparition can be deceptively solid.

When they step back from the embrace, Pike asks, "Has this helped?", one hand still anchored to Kirk's shoulder.

Jim feels hollowed out, like a man regaining his balance after a long illness. "Yeah. Yes. I—" When he glances away, his attention catches briefly on the blue, red, and gold figures converging inside the marketplace, so close yet still of another realm. "—should go. They're waiting."

With a faintly pleased smile, Pike squeezes Jim's shoulder. "You decided."

Kirk confesses, "I can't leave them just yet. It could wound them. Would. Like your leaving wounded me."

"We all leave eventually."

"But we shouldn't rush our leaving if there's a choice," Jim finishes. He looks upon Christopher Pike's face for the last time. "Thank you."

Pike's smile blooms, then, and he goes with the dwindling light.

In the space where he had stood, the still air revives. What hitherto seemed surreal turns to mundane details: the tent leaks; the dirt floor bears the mark of boots; one of the weathered chairs has a splintered back. This is a place of solitude; a place abandoned. A cold place.

All this time Jim had successfully kept his distance from his pain. He stayed frozen, and all he wanted was not to feel at all. But now…

The small tent sighs, and its flaps tremble. It seems no larger than the confines of his head. He lifts a torn section of curtain and steps through, meeting the world—brightness and sounds and smells.

No farther than two strides out, a cry goes up across the market, followed by another, then another. "There!" the voices shout, and "Captain!"

Hands grab him and swing him around on the tail-end of a wailing "_Jim!_", bringing him face to face with a pair of tired, concerned, relieved-looking men. His team. Friends.

The impact of McCoy's hug leaves Kirk breathless.

"Captain," Spock says in his solemn way, "welcome back."

He'll have to apologize to them (and many others, no doubt) for being gone so long. And later on, when things are quieter, for being absent in other ways.

But for now it is enough to soak in the closeness, to lean into McCoy and reply to Spock, "Yeah, glad to be back," and let himself feel for a moment like a man having come home.

Yes, it does feel good. Pike was right. Jim doesn't have a reason to give up yet.

And maybe, just maybe, he never will.

**The End**


End file.
